


The Answer

by CourtneyCocoa



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-15 20:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16070336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourtneyCocoa/pseuds/CourtneyCocoa
Summary: Two girls fall into each other in the chaos of Denerim, then meet again at the end of the world.Samira Lavellan knew Sera long before the sky cracked open. They first met on the crumbling cobblestones of Denerim's marketplace, twelve years before the events of Inquisiton. Before the Blight, before Red Jenny, before Corypheus, before any of it, they were just two discarded children trapped in very different worlds. And when their lives collide for a second time in Haven, they can hardly recognize each other.





	1. On All The Pie in Thedas, It’s True!

 

Sera could feel eyes on the back of her neck. She weaved herself around alleyways and storefronts until she could catch her breath at the center of the marketplace. People were openly staring at her now and she was itching to throw a rude gesture at all of them. Instead she lifted her skirts and kept moving. The few nobles that she recognized by name offered her brittle smiles as she passed but the majority looked like something slimy had crawled into their knickers. These same nobles never would have deigned to acknowledge her presence three months ago, and now Sera was the bane of their existence. She was loving every moment of it.

 

 She crossed main street and stopped to get her bearings. The Denerim Marketplace always dissolved into chaos at the end of the Summer. Merchants hawking their wares crowded the plaza, trying to sell as much merchandise as possible before they began the long journey home to Antiva, Orlais, or even Orzammar. Preparations for the Summer Festival were well underway. Colorful lanterns and banners fluttered from the rooftops and streamers twirled through the streets of Central Denerim in arches leading to the Chantry. You would think that with the festival tomorrow the nobles of Denerim would have better things to do than stare at the elven child draped in silk and finery, but no. The rich always had time for mockery, but Sera couldn’t care less. She’d given Beatrix the slip and had roughly an hour before the old hag realized Sera had left the estate, and her governess would love nothing more than to tattle on her. She picked up the pace.

 

Gerard Cormier; seller of books, scrolls, and exotic tomes, had his ramrod straight back turned on a customer who was gesturing angrily at him when he saw Sera approaching. He blinked furiously and glanced around him, hoping another store had materialized out of thin air and was the object of her attention. When it was clear that Sera intended to speak with him he smoothed his mustache and cleared his throat. “Mademoiselle Seraphina. How…auspicious that you would visit me on the eve of the festival. I trust the gracious Lady Emmald is feeling better?”

 

The enraged customer stood maybe five paces behind Gerard, completely forgotten by the store’s proprietor. She was an elf, maybe a few winters older than Sera, with lean muscles and hungry, vulpine eyes that blazed with cold fury. She bared her teeth at Gerard and pocketed the bag of coins she was holding.

 

Sera shrugged. “Mother suffered a minor cold. Coughing up buckets of blood, vomiting her guts onto the carpets. You know, the usual.” Gerard’s perfectly manicured eyebrows shot all the way up to his toupee and the color drained from his face. Sera’s mouth twitched once. Twice.

 

“I’m joking. She had a fever and now she doesn’t, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m looking for books on Orlesian food, specifically recipes, and I was told you were the man to talk to.”

 

It took visible effort for Gerard to fix his face and smile at the young girl in front of him. “Of course. Did you have a specific author or dish in mind? Or perhaps a time period?”

 

The forgotten elf paced back and forth in a circle, mumbling briefly to herself. She glared disdainfully at the two of them then scanned the shelves of books in front of her, quickly grabbing two books and stuffing them in her bag.

 

“I need dessert recipes. As long as they’re Orlesian I don’t care what time period they’re from,” Sera said. Gerard muttered a profanity under his breath and began to turn around just as the thief dropped one of her books with a soft _thud_.

 

“Wait!” Sera shouted. Gerard turned back to her expectantly. She wracked her brain. “Mother asked about you. She wanted you to know how much she appreciates your services. We’re throwing a ball tomorrow for the Summer Festival and I remember her saying how…earnestly she wished Monsieur Cormier would attend. She said you told the finest stories and had the most majestic accent she’d ever heard since her days at court!”

 

Gerard snorted derisively, but not before his cheeks turned a brilliant scarlet. “Surely, you jest girl?”

 

“On all the pie in Thedas, it’s true! She was going on about your sparkling green eyes, and then she asked me to personally invite you to our ball. It might just be me, but I think she was hoping to squeeze in a dance with you.” Sera peered over his shoulder. The thief had snatched the book off of the cobblestones and pushed it into her bag. She glanced around wildly, shoved her shaking hands into her pockets, and stumbled out of the bookstore…right into a patrolling guardsman.

 

“Hey!” The Guard grabbed the thief by the shoulder to steady her, and the girl almost jumped out of her skin. Gerard turned at the sound. One look at the shaking elf with a death grip on her satchel and he knew what had happened. _Andraste’s hairy ass._ The situation before her wasn’t Sera’s problem, and she was running out of time. But Sera knew what happened to the poor in this city when they stepped out of line. She was in this exact situation three months ago, wishing someone would do something, but no one did. In the end, helping the girl was hardly a choice at all. Sera locked eyes with the thief, who was looking more frantic by the moment, and winked.

 

Gerard drew in a deep breath. The word _thief_ hung like a headman’s axe on his lips, but Sera was quicker. She placed the back of her hand on her forehead, threw herself to the ground, and screamed like a banshee. She pounded her fists on the cobblestones until she could feel her bones rattle and her eyes sting. Around her was chaos. Bystanders fled the scene, knowing all too well what happens when a noble loses their temper. Gerard stood frozen in abject horror before calling for help, fearing Sera might be suffering some sort of episode. Three separate guards came over to investigate the commotion.  

 

“What in Andraste’s name-?”

“Oi! What the hell did you do to her?”

Gerard made windmill gestures with his arms. “Nothing! We were having a civil discussion and she suddenly went berserk!”

“Are you alright miss?”

“Give her some air!”

“Whose brat is this? I don’t recognize her?”

 “I think it’s an elf?”

“Not no way it’s an elf.”

 

When Sera finally fell silent her throat was raw. She stood, wiping the tears off her face and smoothing out her dress. She was happy to see that the thief was long gone. “I’m sorry. I recently lost my parents, torn to bits by bears in the woods. I just get so overcome with emotions sometimes you know? I miss them so much.”

 

One of the larger guards grabbed her arm and twisted it, forcing the long hair away from her face. He snatched at the lace headband that kept her ears down and tore it off. Sera’s hand automatically went for the dagger she kept strapped to her thigh before she remembered there was nothing there now but silk.

 

_Maker’s fucking piss balls!_

The guard sneered down at Sera, his breath boozy and rancid. “You’re a long way from the alienage little girl,” he spat at her. Sera punched him square in the jaw.

 

The guard stumbled backward, mostly from shock. His companions immediately drew their swords and closed in on Sera, but Gerard shoved her behind him. “She’s just a child! She can’t be more than twelve winters old” he shouted.

 

One of the guards had an ugly scar running across the length of his forehead. He stepped forward, his sword still raised. “I’m gonna give you to the count of three to give her up, old man.”

 

Gerard’s voice cracked but he did not move an inch. “She is the lawful daughter of Lady Emmald of House Fitrand. If you harm her, I assure you there will be consequences.”

 

A beat of silence passed between them before two of the guards burst out laughing. The one with the scar stopped his advance but kept his sword upright. His thick eye brows drew together. “I heard something about that. A street rat was caught thieving and some widow looking to get right with the Chantry took pity on him.” He pointed the tip of his sword at Sera’s left eye. “That was you?”

 

Sera backed up into a shelf and fumbled for something sharp. A letter opener? A quill? Anything. “What do you care?” she growled at him.

 

Gerard shot her an exasperated look and loudly cleared his throat before turning back to the three guards in front of them. Not a single one was laughing anymore. “Gentleman, I sincerely apologize on behalf of Mademoiselle Seraphina. I will recount the day’s events to her mother personally and see that she is fittingly punished. I think we can all agree that more violence is not in anyone’s best interest at this point?” He straightened his back and shifted to the right so that Sera’s face was in full view of the guards.

 

He coughed politely. “Seraphina?”

 

Sera grinded her teeth. Her hands closed around a short measuring stick that she pulled into the folds of her skirt. It was better than nothing. “Sorry,” she muttered, barely audible.

 

The guardsman with the scar held her gaze for what felt like a lifetime before sheathing his sword. He spat at her feet then turned to Gerard, blue eyes flashing. “Tell Emmald to keep her mongrel on a shorter leash. The streets are dangerous this time of year. Anything could happen to her.”

 

Gerard nodded vigorously and bowed. “Of course, Serah. Thank you for your understanding.”

 

“Whatever.” He motioned to his companions and began walking away. The one Sera had socked in the jaw stood frozen. He gawked at the retreating guardsman in disbelief. “Ronald! You can’t be serious!”

 

Ronald made an irritated sound but didn’t stop moving. The last guardsman gave Sera a once over, committing her features to memory. “Don’t think this is over girl,” he growled, then caught up with his friends.

 

Sera let out a loud _whoop_ and felt the tension leave her body. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath. Heavy thunderstorm clouds cast shadows across the square as the sun moved further across the sky. It was definitely time to go. She scanned the cobblestones for her headband and sighed. The Guardsman had tossed it into a puddle of sewage. Beatrix would be furious if Sera returned to the estate with her ears out, but she hated that ugly thing. What good did it do her anyway?

 

Gerard had wordlessly turned into the gloom of his store without a backward glance. He seemed to hunch in on himself, for once too tired to maintain his perfect posture. Sera followed him, the adrenaline making her feel giddy and invincible. “That was amazing Gerard! Standing up to the city guard? I didn’t know you had it in you!” She bounced in front of him, a brilliant smile on her face.

 

The book seller exhaled heavily, pulled off his glasses, and rubbed at his eyes. When he opened them, it occurred to him that, maybe for the first time, he was seeing how young the girl in front of him truly was. “Mademoiselle Seraphina, haven’t you caused enough trouble for one day? Go home, and please send your mother my regards.”

 

He lumbered past her into the backroom of the shop and locked the door behind him. Sera stood there in the darkness, unsure of what to do. The tinny sound of errant raindrops hitting the metal roof snapped her out of her daze. She quickly snooped around the bookstore’s food section, searching for the first book that looked decently Orlesian. A thin scarlet tome caught her eye. Looping gold letters spelt _“Madame Franciscka’s Culinary Delights”_ on the spine, with the Orlesian trade seal on the back cover. Sera left fifteen silvers on the front counter, which should more than cover the cost of the book and whispered an inaudible _thank you_ to no one in particular. She quickly entered the square, where a steady drizzle was coming down, and took a direct path through the stalls and caravans. She crossed the bridge over the Drakon River as fast as her little legs could take her. When she got to the other side, a quiet voice overhead stopped her dead in her tracks.

 

“Did you really just lose your parents?”

 

Sera whipped the measuring stick she was still holding in front of her and braced herself. She scanned the rooftops. Nothing. Behind her came the sound of a body hitting pavement. She spun around, book shielding her chest and weapon held high.

 

The thief from the bookstore stood there, hands up, a careful expression on her face. She was short, even by elf standards, and unarmed. Underneath the layer of dirt, the girl shone the same dark brown as the Vhenadahl tree, with long braids clinging to her shoulders like vines. If it wasn’t for the unnerving yellow eyes that peaked through the cascade of her hair, she would look harmless. Sera sized her up before slowly lowering the measuring stick.

 

“I’ve never even met my parents,” Sera said flatly. The thief wrinkled her nose as if she couldn’t quite tell if Sera was joking. “Did you really put your life on the line to steal a couple of books?” Sera asked. “People around here usually steal food and clothes. Or jewelry.”

 

The girl smiled sheepishly and lowered her arms. “The books aren’t for me. I wasn’t planning on stealing them either, but Gerard said elves could only make purchases after sunset when he’s closing shop. He had no problem helping you though.” She hesitated, like what she was about to ask was a particularly stupid question. “Are you really a noble?”

 

“It depends on who you ask,” Sera shrugged then her face lit up. “So, you watched the whole shitshow between me and the guards and weren’t going to lift a finger to help?”

 

Sera had only meant to tease the poor girl but the thief immediately deflated. She took a couple of steps closer, guilt and shame plainly written on her face.  “I never dreamed they’d hurt you! I thought you were a shem, and a noble at that! Honestly, I was too surprised you didn’t rat on me to do anything at first. If I had known you were an elf I never would have left you there. I swear it.”

 

The girl already looked close to tears, but Sera felt a hot flash of anger bubbling up inside her. “I can handle myself, most people around here can. Knife ears don’t get in the way of that.”

 

“I didn’t mean to offend you.” The girl tilted her head. “I’m sorry.”

 

Sera’s eyes narrowed. The girl had an accent she couldn’t quite place, it was light and airy when Fereldens usually spoke from their bellies. She held herself wrong too, no one who’s been slumming around an alienage their whole lives kept their body so open. Her face was too sincere, too trusting. And that word _shem_ , what did it mean? “You’re not from around here are you?”

 

The girl shuffled and bit her lip. “Is it that obvious?”

 

“Yes.” Sera sniffed. “If your going to be in the marketplace go at the crack of dawn and wear something decent.” She pointed at the patchwork, oversized blue shirt hanging off of the girl’s shoulders and shook her head. “Everyone will assume you’re on an errand for some noble. If someone asks, you throw out a name, Lady Whatever of House Druffaloshit, as long as it sounds legit they’ll leave you alone. If you go midday the Guards will assume you’re there to steal something. _Actually_ stealing something in plain view of three guardsmen is a Bad Idea.”

 

What was she doing?  She was already late and soaked through, and now she was standing in the rain giving people life advice like a nitwit. Beatrix was going to skin her alive. So much for staying out of trouble. She turned to go.

 

“Wait!” The girl called out, but Sera paid her no mind.

 

The girl began to walk after Sera, then seemed to think better of it. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Were you really going to fight three armed guardsmen with a ruler?”

 

Sera didn’t stop moving but shot the thief an amused look over her shoulder.


	2. Was She in the Spice Cabinet?

 

Samira spent the first thirteen years of her life in the warm embrace of the Afsaana Desert in Western Rivian. If she shut her eyes and was still, memories of home would drift past to her like smoke. Oceans of smooth coral sand as far as the eye could see, the smell of incense and sweat, winds strong enough to tip an Aravel tearing at her braids, and Clan Lavellan there to guide and protect her from everything in Mythal’s domain. The entire desert was her playground. Her mother’s arms were her home. Life was an unspooling thread of limitless possibilities. She wanted for nothing. She feared nothing. In the days following her exile, she considered that was maybe that was the problem.

 

She stuck to the rooftops, following the strange elven noble as far as the Arl’s Estate then doubled back toward the alienage. It felt imperative that the mysterious girl got home safely, especially since Samira had practically abandoned her in the marketplace this morning. She saw a girl draped in the garbs of a noble and automatically assumed that the girl was a rich human and her status would protect her. And once again, her assumptions had almost gotten someone killed. If Gerard had noticed the missing books, it would have been nothing for him to pin the robbery on the other elf. Even if he didn’t, an elf giving a guardsman lip was justification for being arrested or worse as far as the city guard was concerned, it didn’t matter how rich you were. It was a miracle that the girl walked out of there unscathed.

 

She promised Laila that she was going to do better. Denerim was supposed to be her chance to start over, free from the accusations of her clan, but exactly one year spent in this forsaken city and what had she learned? Exactly nothing, other than the ugly prejudices that plagued humanity. Since her arrival in Denerim Samira had constantly, relentlessly, tried to understand what her sister had found so fascinating about humans. But Denerim was an unsolvable puzzle to her, a labyrinth of poverty and violence that brought her no closer to understanding her sister, or the events that had cost her family everything.

 

The rain fell in sheets and flooded the alleyways, flushing stray garbage into piles above clogged gutters. Samira vaulted from one building to the next, careful of the slippery tiles. When the rains came Denerim was almost unrecognizable. Its bustling, harried residents were finally still and a veneer of peace settled over the city like a spell. The quiet made it easier to breathe, and to think. Samira leapt over the Southern wall of the Alienage and tumbled into an abandoned apartment building. If Denerim was a puzzle to Samira, its Alienage was the greatest mystery of all. The elves of Denerim were nothing like clan Lavellan, or any Dalish clan that Samira knew of, and yet their quirks somehow reminded her of the home she could never return to. Sometimes, after her nightmares left her shaking in the dark and her thoughts wandered to forbidden places, Samira wondered what Laila would make of this messy, peculiar place. But the answer was a cold, hard stone in the pit of her stomach. Her older sister would have absolutely loved Denerim, every bit of it, in a way Samira never could.

 

The Alienage was still as death when Samira exited the apartments. She followed the muddy path past the Vhenadal, keeping her head down despite the streets being empty. When she arrived at a squat two story building with yellowing paint peeling around unbarred windows that were lined with drying herbs, she found the lanterns unlit and the door locked, which worried her more than anything. The Dread Wolf himself couldn’t stop Cameron from opening the shop. She rummaged for her key and entered through the front door for once, knocking loudly to announce her presence. An exasperated noise echoed from the stairway and then Shianni was pulling her into a tight hug.

 

“Where have you been? You were supposed to be back hours ago!” She pushed her flaming red hair out of her eyes and sighed. “He’s getting worse. I don’t know what to do, but I didn’t want leave him alone. I tried to brew a potion but-” she gestured at the sink overflowing with foul smelling equipment.

 

Shianni, making potions? That couldn’t have ended well. Samira cleared her throat and gave Shianni a reassuring look. “Well I appreciate the attempt, and I’m sure he did too.”

 

“You didn’t see his face when he tasted it. I thought he’d die right there.” Shianni walked Samira through the shadowy apartment and up to the second landing that they used as a bedroom. The musty scent of sweat and bile immediately accosted her. Clothing and gear littered the floor, yet another sign of how sick Cameron really was. A panicky feeling spiked in her stomach and she smothered it. He was going to be fine. The alternative was unthinkable.

 

The trail of debris led to a large feather stuffed mattress in the far corner of the room, where a shaking figure lay wrapped in a nest of blankets. Shianni turned to Samira, a fragile smile on her lips. They were both faking it, trying to seem confident for the other’s benefit. Samira wondered idly if this was what growing up felt like; pretending everything was alright even when it wasn’t. “I have to make sure my cousin’s house isn’t flooding, otherwise I’d stay with you,” Shianni said. “He was pretty lucid this morning but last I checked the fever wasn’t breaking.”

 

“He’ll be alright Shianni. My brother has pulled through worse than this.”

 

“He better,” she huffed, then lingered. “Tell him I said goodbye for me?” Shianni asked.

 

Samira nodded and Shianni turned to go, quietly making her way down the creaky stairs. Samira shoved a pile of parchment off of a chair then dragged it closer to the mattress. A flickering candle provided the only real light source in the room, illuminating a rickety bedside table littered with dry herbs, tinctures, and empty flasks. She grabbed a couple of herbs and got started on a poultice for the fever. She did not fail to notice when a glassy eye covertly peaked at her from under the covers.

 

“I know you’re awake, Cameron,” she said.

 

Her brother slowly emerged from the layer of blankets and scanned the room. “Is Shianni gone?”

 

Samira tried to hide the amusement in her eyes. “Unfortunately. Should I go fetch her so you can keep making moon eyes at each other? Or are you craving another of her potions?”

 

“It’s not funny!” He growled, his voice weak and breaking. “She mixed spindleweed with dried newt and valerian sprigs! Thank Mythal it immediately came back up or I could would have been vomiting for days. And I tasted Aleppo, of all things. Was she in the spice cabinet?”

 

“Maybe placing the spice cabinet next to the cabinet with potion ingredients was misguided?” Samira snorted, never taking her eyes off the poultice in her hands. It was a conversation they’ve had many times before, and it never stopped being relevant. “Cheer up Cameron, your beloved was only trying to help.”

 

“She helped sear the taste buds out of my mouth, and she’s not my beloved!” He swayed slightly and put a hand on the wall to steady himself. His bloodshot eyes pierced her with a look that could level mountains. “Where have you been all morning? Did Alarith need you at the shop?” Somehow her brother always knew when Samira was up to something. If Cameron were a mage this would be his power, she thought, an uncanny perception for mischief. She put down the poultice and gently laid Cameron against the pillows. His damp skin burned against her fingers.

 

“You need to take it easy, Cameron.”

 

“Not you too,” he pleaded. “I can’t bear to spend another day in bed. Please, Kit. I’m so bored I could cry. At least let me open the shop?”

 

Samira gave him a doubtful look. “Sorry, but I happen to agree with Shianni. You need to rest, and the Alienage won’t burn down without access to your medicines for one more day. I do however, have something that might help with the boredom.” She dragged the satchel she’d been hiding behind her back into plain view and pulled two books out into the candle light. Cameron eyes went wide with delight and disbelief.

 

“Is that-?” He took the books from her, cradling them as if they were made of glass. “Tales from Beneath the Earth and Thedas: Myth and Legends? How on earth did you…?” The unbridled delight danced like the candle flame before his eyes, and Samira finally allowed herself to relax.

 

“They were supposed to be for Sylaise’s Feast Day. I know it passed a fortnight ago, and I know you pretended not to notice because we couldn’t afford to celebrate, but the Vir Atish’an is important to you. And I want us to celebrate it. We shouldn’t neglect our customs just because we’re-” the words closed around her throat “clanless now.”

 

Cameron lowered the books and carefully considered his little sister. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you didn’t have to do this.”

 

Samira felt the telltale tightness in her throat. It was suddenly hard to meet her brother’s eyes. “I know, but I wanted to. You’ve been working so hard, trying to keep the templars away, and food on the table. I wanted to thank you somehow, for choosing to be here. For not leaving.”

 

Cameron placed the books carefully on the nightstand and gently grasped Samira’s wrist, pulling her onto the mattress. Samira resisted at first, in the year since they fled Afsaana she’d never spoken of the feelings that were knotted up inside her. But Cameron kept at it, not yanking her in but not loosening his grip either until Samira was close enough to hold close to his heart. She buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered miserably. She didn’t even know what she was apologizing for. Everything, maybe. They held each other for a long moment, until the candle flickered out and the steady rhythm of rain pounding against the walls became the only sound. And finally, finally, in the shadows of their refuge turned home, and her brother’s strong arms around her, the tears came.

 

“Samira, you don’t have to thank me for anything. Not a damn thing. Look at me, da’len.” He murmured the term of endearment into her hair, but for some reason it just made her cried harder, until they were both shaking. “I would never abandon you. This is exactly where I want to be. Keeping you safe is the most important thing in the world to me right now, and when we’re settled we can go back to Rivian and get Aerin, then forget about the clan for good.”

 

When Samira didn’t answer he sighed and rubbed small circles into her back. “They were wrong to send you away, Kit. They cast out one of their own. A child under their protection.” His voice had a hard steel edge to it. “They should be the ones apologizing, not you.”

 

A violent cough rattled through Cameron and he let go of her for a moment to steady himself. Samira tried to take her weight off of him, but he shook his head. “My family means more to me than the clan’s ridiculous superstitions, more to me than any feast day, even Sylaise’s. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes,” Samira sniffed wetly. All these wonderful feelings were blooming inside her like flowers, and she didn’t know what to do with them. Every night that she and Cameron went to bed hungry, every moment they had to struggle to survive since her exile, a voice in the back of her mind wondered if only. If only I’d listened that day. If only Laila was still here. If only I wasn’t, things would be easier. What did you do with love given so freely, and unconditionally? She tucked the glittering emotions away and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

 

Cameron began coughing again, and it seemed like he would never stop. Samira rolled off the bed and grabbed a water skin for him. He drank it in silence, holding his head in his hand and barely keeping his eyes open. Cameron had always been a source of strength, not just for Samira but for everyone around him. The clan was beside themselves when he declared that he wanted to be exiled along with his sister. Watching her older brother now as he slouched into himself, wasting away in an alienage thousands of miles away from their ancestral home, it was almost too much to bear. There had to be something Samira could do to help, anything. “Does this mean I should return the books?” she joked, unable to meet his eyes.

 

He snorted, resting the back of his head against the wall. “Creators, no. I’ve been dying to get my hands on Brother Genetivi’s work. Dirthamen knows where you found the coin for them, but it was such a sweet sentiment. My little sister has a heart of gold after all, who knew?” he smiled. Samira elbowed him and Cameron chuckled. He slowly layed himself down onto the mattress and covered his eyes with the back of his arm.

 

“Money is a little tight right now, but if I manage a few more house calls and pick up some extra shifts at the Emporium then maybe we could have a small feast day. Sylaise has been so good to us.” He glanced around the apartment fondly. “We should thank her properly.”

 

“Is there anything I can do?” Samira asked.

 

Cameron rolled over and searched the nightstand until he found a purple and gold leaflet. “Actually, yes. I promised Connie I would help her out tomorrow night. Some noble is throwing a private party and she needed extra servants, but I can barely make it down the stairs without falling over. If you could go in my place…” he frowned, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “They’ll be a lot of humans there, though. Do you think you can handle it…?”

 

“Of course I can handle it,” Samira rolled her eyes. She retrieved the half-finished poultice from the bedside table, added a few more herbs, and said a quick prayer that her magic would cooperate for once before shutting her eyes and carefully, carefully, casting a simple ice spell. A small film of frost coated the poultice and she sagged in relief. No explosions. No fires. Thank Mythal. She wrapped the poultice around Cameron’s head, ignoring his weak sounds of protest, then grabbed her own blanket and snuggled into the opposite side of the bed.

 

She laid there in the moonlight, listening to the rain. Samira was certain her brother had fallen asleep, but a raspy voice startled her out of her dreaming. “Kit, you know that what happened to Laila wasn’t your fault right?”

 

The rain continued outside, unrelenting. Samira wondered if the sky would ever run out of tears. She could feel Cameron watching her, waiting, but she didn’t have the words he wanted to hear. Her hands sought the necklace that hung around her neck. She fingered the fine lines of the gem then blurted the first coherent thought that came to mind. “Are any of the noble families in Denerim elf blooded?”

 

Cameron was silent a moment. Samira could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. “What?”

 

She thought about the fearless girl with the long blond hair and the wicked smile. Creators, she didn’t even know her name. The idea of elven nobility was anathema to Fereldens. Surely, if there was a whole house of elves living in an estate somewhere she would have heard about it by now? “This morning I met an elf. She said…I thought she said she was nobility.”

 

“Have you been listening to Luthien’s stories again?”

 

Samira huffed. “Good night, brother.”

  
\---

  
The polished marble was ice against Samira’s feet. It felt like she had walked into one of her Father’s tales about the splendors of Arlathan. A kaleidoscope of colors rippled past her as nobles twirled each other in circles, their gowns swaying like the beat of butterfly wings. Columns towered above her head, balancing a gleaming ceiling depicting the human deity raising her sword to a burning sky. The room swayed in time with the soft pull of lyre strings, it was hypnotic to watch. There was a steady energy here that she’d never encountered before. It was like a heartbeat, frantic and relentless. Dizzying and graceful, all at once.

 

But this wasn’t Arlathan. It was Denerim, and she had a job to do.

 

A pale human with a receding hairline barked orders at them from the servant’s staircase. _Don’t make eye contact. Don’t speak unless spoken to. If you see an empty glass fill it. If there’s an empty plate, take it. Otherwise, you are a part of the scenery. And by the Maker, don’t even think about sampling the food or you will be hauled out by your ears!_ His face was twisted with disgust as he inspected them, yanking hair back into ponytails, disparaging the condition of their shoes, and tucking shirts into waistbands. The human tugged at Samira’s ill-fitting trousers. _What’s this? Do you suppose the nobility enjoys the sight of your knickers, girl? In case you haven’t noticed this is a ball, not the Pearl! Dress like it!_

 

Samira’s ears burned and the other elves politely averted their eyes. The suit was outfitted for her brother, who was several sizes bigger than her, and there hadn’t been time to tailor her a new set. She undid the tight bun Shianni had managed to wrangle her braids into and used the string to hold up her pants, hoping the human wouldn’t comment on the loose hair. But then the toll of a bell echoed throughout the estate and the man began roaring at them. _What are you waiting for? GO!_

 

The servants milled out in an orderly fashion, carrying platters of delicacies and sparkling wines. Samira stuck to the outer edges, the thought of being at the center of so many humans made her heart pound quicker than she’d ever admit. It took her the better part of an hour to notice a pattern; nobles would come and go, grabbing the contents of her tray without so much as a glance in her direction. She might as well have been invisible. Samira didn’t know if the thought comforted or angered her.

 

A raven-haired servant leaned into Samira’s shoulder and whispered in her ear. _Did you see the shoes on Countess Bulliarde? She’s going to tower over any second!_ The girl smiled at her, brown eyes shimmering in the candlelight. Samira had seen her in the alienage before but had never gotten her name, which put her at a disadvantage. A sparkle in the stranger’s eye told her that she knew exactly who Samira was. _If those abominable shoes don’t drag her down, her drunk husband certainly will_ , Samira replied. The girl giggled into her sleeve and winked at Samira, then walked back into the crowd. Samira busied herself with the contents of her tray, and tried to hide the smile blooming on her face.

 

The blast of trumpets startled Samira out of her daydreaming. The nobles whispered fiercely amongst themselves and turned to the grand staircase on the far side of the room. They were craning their heads, clutching at each other with barely concealed anticipation.

 

An announcer’s voice rose over the crowd with ease, effectively silencing the room. “Presenting your host for this evening; Lady Desdemona Georgette Emmald of House Fitrand, and her daughter, Seraphina Adelina Emmald!”

 

A pale figure came into view. Her midnight black hair piled on top of her head in looping ringlets and a silver gown shimmered around her like water. Not a single hair was out of place. Her hawk-like gray eyes studied the nobility below her, the way that a lion might study an ant. She held the banister to steady herself, then placed one foot in front of the other, and descended the stairs.

 

And behind her, wobbling in crystal studded shoes with a face caught between anxiety and indignance, was the girl from the marketplace.

 

 


End file.
